


ask, when i close my eyes

by couldaughter



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, the e/R is more a background pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Grantaire and Enjolras are kissing in the living room.” Combeferre sounded distressed.</p><p>This sentence took a moment to process in Jehan’s sleep-addled brain. “Wait, they’re-”</p><p>“Yes. Please come and rescue me before I have to get a hose.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ask, when i close my eyes

Jehan opened his eyes blearily at the sound of his phone echoing through the flat – at some point Grantaire had changed it to The Sound of Music because Grantaire was a dick. It was practically an unwritten law of the universe.

When it became clear the noise wasn’t going to stop, Jehan groaned and dragged himself out of bed. The phone was, of course, hidden underneath a pile of textbooks that very nearly fell on Jehan’s feet. He picked it up and put it to his ear with a stifled yawn.

“Grantaire and Enjolras are kissing in the living room.” Combeferre sounded distressed.

This sentence took a moment to process in Jehan’s sleep-addled brain. “Wait, they’re-”

“Yes. Please come and rescue me before I have to get a hose.”

Jehan smiled, then yawned loudly. “Of course, let me just- get ready.” He didn’t really want to give Combeferre any more mental images. “I’ll meet you at the Musain in half an hour.”

“You are a god among men,” said Combeferre, and hung up. Jehan went to find some clothes, already tugging on a bright green t-shirt he was almost certain belonged to Grantaire.

He reached the Musain in just under the half an hour he’d promised. Combeferre was stood by the back entrance, his shirt collar turned up and one cuff unbuttoned.

“So, my dear Combeferre,” said Jehan, sliding into the spce space beside his friend, “It seems you have gone through a traumatic experience. As Corneille said, one may heal one’s grief by recounting it.”

Combeferre smiled. “So, trying the poetic angle for details, Jehan? That’s admirably sneaky of you.”

“I had hoped to be less obvious than usual.”

“In any case,” said Combeferre, turning to face him. “I will oblige. This way Courfeyrac won’t have to pester me for them.”

He took off his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. “They had an argument. I think Grantaire made some comment about Enjolras’ emotions, or lack of them, and that started them off. I’m not sure exactly what happened between then and the intent to apparently never breathe again but whatever it was I’m sure it was significant.”

“Well,” said Jehan, a little disappointed but no less happy to see Combeferre. “Since they’re unlikely to be free for a little while, I believe there is an exhibit on at the Museum of Natural History. If you’d like to accompany a poor student?”

‘Lead on.’

They walked off together, carefully separate, talking cheerfully about Combeferre’s latest letters page debate.

\-----

“I’m coming through!” Jehan was on a mission to get through the hallway and out of the flat before any clothes came off, but it was looking unlikely. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled, jamming it between shoulder and ear. “Combeferre, you know how I rescued you last week? Feel like returning the favour?”

There was a muffled confirmation from the other end of the phone line.

“Good, because I wasn’t actually giving you a choice.” Jehan toed his shoes on a pushed out of the front door, Grantaire and Enjolras completely oblivious. He really hoped this wasn’t going to become a habit of theirs.

Jehan could almost hear Combeferre’s eyebrows raise. “Well, in that case, where should we go this time? Paris does only have a finite number of museums.”

“The Musee d’Orsay!” Jehan had been longing to see their new exhibition for the past month.

“As the lord commands it,” said Combeferre with a smile. “So it must be.”

The afternoon was bright and breezy, and the new art was just as beautiful as Jehan had imagined. Combeferre spent a good deal of the visit making quiet observations about the tourists they passed in the exhibition halls, and attempting to engage Jehan in conversation about the art – although it was one of the few subjects of which he wasn't very well informed.

Jehan remembered it fondly when he eventually had to return to his flat and found that Enjolras still had not left. He rattled things in the kitchen for several minutes in the desperate hope that they might remember that someone else lived in the flat, but the chances of success were very slim.

Eventually, he retired to his room, hoping some quality time with his music collection and his laptop might relax him. Combeferre Skype called him later that night, wanting to discuss one of their classes, and they ended up spending three hours on video. It was nice.

\-----

The pattern continued for the next few months – Enjolras got much more familiar with Grantaire, and Jehan and Combeferre became much more familiar with the increasingly obscure museums of Paris that they escaped to, and the occasional bookshop. They stopped going to them after the first blow up rant about incompetent cataloguing on Combeferre’s part got them kicked out, but even that had been funny, in a way.

Jehan hadn’t realised just how often they’d been doing it until Grantaire and Enjolras finally, finally, moved into their own flat, and the coordinated escapes were no longer necessary. He often found himself at a loose end two or three afternoons and evenings a week with nothing to fill up the hours.

Which was why, when his phone buzzed on the desk and Combeferre’s number came on screen, Jehan was surprised.

“Combeferre! What angelic command has led you to grace me with your dulcet tones?” Jehan answered cheerfully.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out this evening, in the spirit of our previous escapes.” Combeferre paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “That is, in that spirit, but with a more romantic slant.”

Jehan hung up the phone, sat down hard on the floor and rested his head in his hands.

His phone started to vibrate again almost instantly, but he ignored it. This would require face to face contact.

As if summoned by thought alone, the doorbell rang almost instantly. Jehan leapt up and almost ran for the door, then sighed as the peephole revealed it was not, in fact, Combeferre. Grantaire seemed apologetic when Jehan let him in.

“Sorry, man, I remembered I left my boxing gloves somewhere? If you don’t mind me barging in, of course.” He turned to look at Jehan more closely. “Hey, what’s up? You look like you’ve swallowed a wasp.”

Jehan smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner. “Oh, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting you at this exact moment.”

“Ohhhh,” said Grantaire, “Have you got a date, Jehan? Do tell.”

“It’s more like the opposite of a date. An anti-date. A wake.”

Grantaire frowned. “Sounds depressing. Who’s the metaphorical stiff?”

“Mine and Combeferre’s friendship.” Jehan sat down on the sofa, somehow managing to look debauched despite being sat straight upright.

“I was right, then. Terribly depressing.” He sat down beside Jehan and threw an arm across his shoulders. “What, if I may ask, has managed to throttle such a promising new relationship?”

Jehan flushed, his freckles standing out on his cheeks. “It’s not a relationship. Wasn’t.”

“Try again, friend. You’ve been dating Combeferre for months.” Grantaire smiled at him, wide and honest. “Or has he become the Hades to your Persephone and now you must part for half a year? Because that would suck.”

“He asked me out, and I panicked and hung up on him.” Jehan scowled, both at Grantaire and at his past self, who was clearly an idiot of the highest order.

“Points for effort, at least. I’d have thrown the phone across the room and run away.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you did do when Enjolras called you? I’m almost certain I’ve heard that story from Courfeyrac.” He grinned.

Grantaire nodded without shame. “And look where I am now. There was literally no way to go but up.”

“Is this you telling me to go find him? If so, you should probably know that I was already planning to when you arrived.”

“Excellent.” Grantaire propelled him to the front door and pushed him out lightly. “Now, I’m going to go find my boxing gloves and you’re going to find love. Good luck!” Jehan was already halfway down the corridor.

\-----

He slid to a halt in front of the doors to Combeferre’s flat. Now that he’d actually arrived, it was an effort bringing himself to knock, but he managed it after only a few minutes of internal debate.

Combeferre opened the door with a slightly surprised look. “Jehan.”

“You know, it would’ve been nice if you had told me that we’ve been dating for months.” Jehan smiled. “Grantaire had to inform me.”

“I thought you knew. I didn’t think I was being particularly subtle.” He smiled back, soft.

Jehan walked into the hallway, and shut the door carefully behind him. “Now,” he said, stepping forward. “Let me remind you that dating often entails certain other activities, if you would be amenable.”

“I am open to negotiation on that front.”

“Wonderful.” Jehan grabbed Combeferre’s shirtfront and pulled him closer. “I would be delighted to go out with you tonight, by the way.

“I look forward to it,” said Combeferre, distractedly. He was busy staring at Jehan’s lips. “Now, was there something…?”

Jehan smiled wider, and pulled Combeferre into a kiss, weaving their fingers together.

“I’m sure there is a museum somewhere in this bountiful city we haven’t yet graced with our presence.”

“If not, I’m sure we can find some way to amuse ourselves.” They shared a conspiratorial look and left for the streets of Paris, hands still interlaced.

**Author's Note:**

> written for alix, currently known as modernaumarius on tumblr, and beta-ed by helena fastinganddrunk, who is wonderful in so many ways.  
> title from 'whatever' by carol ann duffy


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